


To Reach

by 111 (Insert)



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Eventual Romance, M/M, Memory Loss, Memory Magic, References to Illness, season 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:56:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29758599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insert/pseuds/111
Summary: After Tenjouin Fubuki was ripped away from Darkness, many of his memories returned as disparate fragments, like finding bits of ceramics or fossils on the beach. Piecing together the original objects had taken time. Some remained unfinished.He had not expected to watch Marufuji Ryo undergo a similar quiet process once he finally returned to Duel Academia.
Relationships: Marufuji Ryou | Zane Truesdale/Tenjouin Fubuki | Atticus Rhodes
Comments: 17
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is largely an alternative version of episodes 163 and 164 from season 4, and it contains massive spoilers until episode 178. I’ll make notes regarding specific events from canon that I’m referencing. 
> 
> Although I got *incredibly* distracted this month, I tried my best to get the first chapter of this up in time for Jean’s wonderful [#fuburyoary event](https://twitter.com/fuburyo/status/1349915595400101890)! Please check out the works from everyone, as they are really inspiring!
> 
> The draft for this fic clocks in at about 25k, with some parts still very rough, and I’ll try to get it up as soon as I can.

\---

There was sand in his mouth. The grains underneath his palms and smeared across his forehead were warm to the point of burning. His first attempt to open his eyes was futile -- the rays of light were needles, pain exploding outwards from the instances of contact. 

It was imperative that he overcome this.

Two haggard breaths, and he lifted himself up from the ground, the loose sand sliding below. The steady slurring of ocean water was nearby, the smell of it registering next. Each breath seemed to catch in his chest, pulling awkwardly on  _ something  _ inside and wrenching it further and further out of place, but he also couldn't allow for such insignificant concerns to stop him here. 

He rose to his feet. 

His legs gave out, and when his eyes snapped open, he forced them to  _ stay _ open: the world was a swimming mirage of blazing white, curls of sapphire blue slowly parting the image and then spreading out. Water. Sky. Shadows over the pale beach. 

A reason had justified this, his existence here.

What that reason was, however, had become unknown. He only had the frame for it, the socket where a precious truth should have been housed. 

High on the drafts, two seabirds headed for the open water, and the battered thing in his chest was violently twisted until it almost popped. This place could have been an intended grave. 

(A vision of white sand, the sensation of collapsing forward as his insides screamed -- obsolete components stretched beyond their limits that had begun an irreversible process of failure.)

As he struggled again, voices rang out from far, far in front of him. 

"Hey, what's that guy- O-Oh my  _ god _ ?!"

"That's the Kaiser! But isn't he supposed to be-?"

\---

He was on an inclined bed, the adjacent window streaming in an afternoon's light and letting it fall over his wrists, his face. Blankets pooled in his lap. 

It was still empty, that socket. It demanded resolution. 

Leads had been attached to his chest and arms with a clear adhesive. A series of white machines were positioned by the bed, their electronic murmurs difficult to separate from each other. Opened to the waist, the robe over him was a dull, steel blue. Different clothes were piled on a table set against the far wall, and a duel disk rested over the folds of black. The deck inside would likely be his own. 

He looked away as a door slid open. The woman who stepped inside smiled as their eyes met. Her red hair was tightly pulled back, her white-blue vest bearing an ornate design. 

"Marufuji-kun, I'm glad to see that you're awake! Do you have any pain in your chest?" 

"No," he said, wincing as the word dragged its way out of his dry mouth, and the woman maneuvered around the bed -- the centerpiece of the room, positioned adjacent to the forest beyond the glass -- and directed a glass of water into his numb hands. A pill bottle stood tall on the side table. The name of the medication meant something to him.

"Here, use the straw. Also, if you press this call button here, one of the nurses can bring you more after my visit," she said brightly, and-

He should have thanked her. It made sense to, on some shadowed but fundamental level. 

He didn't. 

She continued, pausing only to bring a chair over to the side of a bed and adjust the clipboard previously held under one arm. "Of course, you should also press it if you experience any sharp pains, especially in your chest. Do you understand that?"

"I understand that I have a serious heart condition," he said, the words stilted but audible. She held his stare. 

"Is that something you've known for a long time or something that you've learned just now?”

He grinned tightly at that, shaking his head down at the sheets. 

"Denying it would be pointless." 

"Well, then I suppose an introduction is in order," she answered, and he waited, assessing. "I’m Ayukawa Emi, a teacher here at Duel Academia in addition to being part of the medical staff. Previously, you were a student in the Obelisk Blue dorm, Marufuji Ryo."

Also known as ‘the Kaiser’. 

(A title represented a legacy; he had torn into his own as a beast would its prey.)

"I need to regain my memory as quickly as possible. The downsides are irrelevant.”

"Hm. I would disagree with that, as someone concerned with your safety," Ayukawa replied, lifting a penciled eyebrow, and she transitioned into an examination, checking the monitors. Fatigue should not have set in so rapidly. Even lifting an  _ arm  _ made his vision blur. Restlessness was a fanged prisoner caged inside his chest, striking out at whatever walls it could find. 

"Marufuji-kun? Should I put the blinds down for you?"

"No," he ground out, pinching at the space between his eyebrows. "I need the timeline for the treatment."

"I'm afraid that it's not so simple," she answered, smoothing out her pink dress as she stood up. She checked the monitors. "We've had a case like this fairly recently. Your data during intake was even similar, although it's steadily returning to normal levels. Given what we've learned, it's important to take things slowly. That's why I've only told you about your name and dormitory so far."

"I can handle more than that."

"Hm… Then I should emphasize that rest is an important part of the healing process," Ayukawa observed, stowing her clipboard under her arm again. "Please, trust in us. Everyone at the clinic will support you." And-

The room seemed to be covered with motes of dust, the exhaustion increasing by a new factor, as if to test him. He blinked, and then he was staring at his own wrist, the tube that merged with his skin leading to an IV bag -- the fluid clear. The blinds hung halfway down, golden light over the slates and framing horizontal sections of the wind-tossed leaves.

(During the long nights by the lighthouse, he gazed for hours at the troughs in the waves, the streaks of black water leading his thoughts down cold, lonely paths. Eventually, the moonlight would weaken into mere wisps of silver.)

\---

But he didn't stay frozen for long, not this time. 

He surged back to consciousness, gasping for air and reaching with a clawed hand for the water. At his estimate, only a few hours had passed -- the room was unchanged except for the incremental deepening of the natural light. The windows were still closed, the air artificially chilled. Tall double doors waited on that same wall, leading to a simple courtyard with the forest behind it. On the opposite wall, a security door was neatly shut, the panel next to it bearing a keypad and a card slot.

Muffled footsteps sounded. They were rushed, falling carelessly. 

His gaze burrowed into the security door. The footsteps stopped, electronic beeps sounding as someone fumbled with the device that, presumably, was the twin of the one inside. The door opened.

(The shapes in the dark water were deceptive, hooked like the shadows of strange creatures, and even though so many of his fears were childish, they persisted all the same.)

This dark-haired person was a student, judging by his age. He wore a uniform jacket in stark white and blue that echoed the teacher’s vest, and his features were difficult to identify, overwhelmed as they were by the wide eyes -- the whites gleaming like pebbles under the surf -- that had latched onto his own face with an intensity that trembled and quaked. 

"I...knew it was true," whispered the stranger, and he stepped forward, closing the door behind him and almost dropping the ID card in his right hand -- borrowed, given that the picture did not match. In the other hand, he clutched a crumpled set of roses, their stems wrapped in damp tissue paper. Shaking his head, the stranger then showed him a broad smile. "Oh, Ryo… You might tease me for it, but I’m...close to becoming speechless just from the sight of you again. It's a novel concept, isn't it?"

He waited, silent.

With wide strides, the stranger approached the side of his bed, took the chair, and...maintained that expression. The pieces of this emotional connection had been buried. Not even the shape of it was discernible now.

"Seven is a strange number for flowers," he heard himself say, and this... _ person  _ \-- who seemed to radiate energy as if to compensate for the vibrations and shivers of his own stressed body -- let out a boisterous laugh. 

"Well, you got me there! After taking the flowers from my dorm room, I dashed here as quickly as I could. Some must have fallen away… You'll forgive me, won't you?" the stranger asked, winking, and nothing had returned. Not a name.

Not a single memory. 

The roses were lain on the edge of his bed, the contrast between their vibrant petals and the white fabric strong. Deception was meaningless. 

"You should tell me what your name is," he stated, glancing up to meet an expression caught in the wake of shock. The stranger recovered from the feeling in stages. A deep, rasping breath. A series of hurried blinks. 

The hand that had been absently drawing towards his own over the blankets stopped. 

Moved away. 

The stranger dragged those fingers through his fall of dark hair instead, the smile he wore next unconvincing -- a shallow creation. 

"I would normally say it like this. ...Look up. What do you see? The sky? The heavens? And then the transition leads into… Ten… Jouin." A beat passed, Ryo staring at him still. The smile went higher, unsteady. "...Fubuki Tenjouin. And, ah, yours is-"

"I was already told my name."

"Oh! That's-”

"I don't plan on remaining in this...state," Ryo interjected, cringing at that final word, and Fubuki had grown still. Something about the exact tilt of his features seemed...introspective, hinting at an analytical mind. "If you, Tenjouin Fubuki, were close to me previously, then you should understand the determination within myself. I need information to make the connections between this present and my past.”

"I…" A break in Fubuki's concentration, those eyes going wide again, and he stood up suddenly, walking towards the row of windows. "One moment, if you don't mind. I just…"

The silence that formed between them was grasped at and unsettled by the machinery, the electronic beeps regular like the beats of a metronome. Fubuki's hair was long enough to spread over his shoulderblades. The flowers he had left behind remained in their position, and Ryo considered if, in his weakened state, he would even be able to pull the petals off one with a steady hand.

Although, it was just a thought -- he would never do that, not to this...present.

Something deep under his skin itched, the next spasm of his heart prominent, loud. Fubuki cleared his throat. 

"Would it...be alright if I asked you something?"

"Of course," he answered, rubbing one palm over his chest, the fabric of his robe shifting in delicate ridges. Someone had removed the leads while he had been asleep, and it was aggravating that he had only  _ just  _ noticed, but-

Framed by the sunlight in deep orange, Fubuki turned around, jaw visibly tense. 

"Your memories are hidden from you, aren't they? ...Including those that involve people, places, and your own life experiences."

He nodded. 

The emotions held in those irises were raindrops against a window to him. He watched their patterns form and break, his fingers aching to reach out and...feel, to catch just one.

The rattle of his damaged heart had worsened. But he -- Marufuji Ryo -- endured even that.

“This...shouldn’t have happened, not when so many of us moved from Yubel's prison to…” Fubuki cut his whispers off, tossing his head once. Even though tension clawed its way across his features, it was clear that, freed of their influences, Fubuki would be someone who could captivate others. Regardless, this moment was their reality, each facet of it both gilded and strange from unfamiliarity. “Ryo, I believe you with all of my heart, and I swear that I will help you overcome these shadows. I hope you can believe me as well, and if not, then I’ll prove myself to you.”

“I can’t afford to waste time due to needless suspicions,” he said, feeling his mouth curl into the beginnings of a small grin, and this new person gaped at him, stepped back. “Also, I have a feeling that before this, I wasn’t someone who others crossed lightly. Deception would be unwise in such a case.”

Surprise faded, Fubuki’s grin returning. He nodded. “Well… For now, let’s just say that you’ve always been the ‘intense’ type.”

\---

Three days passed.

At Ayukawa’s insistence, his rehabilitation focused primarily on his physical health. Tasks that should have been simple to execute were impeded by his own body. He concentrated on ripping down such unnecessary barriers after the staff had left, repeating those small but crucial exercises again and again late into the nights.

The empty socket had remained in that unacceptable state.

When Ayukawa had first discovered Fubuki inside of his room (laughing at nothing, framed by the red-orange of the lowering sun and wiping at his eyes hurriedly), she had immediately dragged him into the hallway and left Ryo with a brittle quiet that had extended for hours. He had slept for short bursts, enclosed in only darkness and with no wisps of dreams or the insights they could have offered like valuable sparks.

Fubuki had returned in the morning, standing tall behind Ayukawa who, easing the door open and rolling her eyes, had been quick to offer an explanation while checking the monitors. “It only gets more and more difficult to keep secrets on this island. Of course, that also applies to your return here, Marufuji-kun. The good news is that while I hadn’t planned on introducing you to Tenjouin-kun so early, it is important for you to ease into socializing with others.”

He had arched an eyebrow at that, noting how Fubuki had then sailed into the room with both arms outstretched and twirled before stopping at his bedside. “Naturally, I offered my services as your companion, my dearest Ryo! I know we’ll make for an unstoppable team!”

“You have promised not to push him too hard in exchange for your own ID card,” Ayukawa had observed, Fubuki cringing at her glare, and Ryo had extended his right arm when she had signaled for him to. 

“Of course. I would never do anything to…” Stiffening, Fubuki had thrown on a too-wide smile (a tension present in his shoulders, one that Ryo had found immediately) and changed the topic -- managing to say many, many words all at once and yet also nothing at all.

That dynamic had been maintained.

Throughout each day, Fubuki had arrived for short but frequent visits, occasionally with one of the nurses in tow and attempting some basic examination as he chatted endlessly in the background. Sometimes, he had cared for the flowers: still seven, still vibrant red despite the passage of time. Constant was the tension that wracked him despite his cheerful expressions. 

None of the staff seemed to acknowledge it. 

Perhaps it was hidden to them.

(A choked-off sob from behind a closed door, the hallway still around him as Ryo raised his hand to knock. It hung, suspended in the air, and it connected harshly with the wood when the cries -- the consequences of dreams that he could only try and try to understand the events of -- reached a crescendo.)

Fubuki did seem aware that, despite his condition, Ryo’s mind was active and grasping for answers. He had explained the rankings within the school, that Ryo had already graduated, and other plain, environmental details that offered nothing of interest. He had already surmised that he was a duelist, given the disk and deck that had been found on his person. 

Often, he had caught himself gazing at the cards resting within that slot. Blinking in those moments would feel like a form of defeat, like lowering a sword and allowing his opponent to take a killing blow.

(Hidden with the isolated temple, the twin dragon had awaited him, distant whispers rasping out from behind its simple prison.)

Now, he was listening to the door slide open, the blinds high and the forest beyond calm, an ideal emerald green. He did not expect harsh winds and rain to reflect his own frustrations, the warped extension of a pathetic fallacy. From those footsteps, it was probably Fubuki who had entered the room.

He found himself smiling in amusement at the state of his visitor -- chest heaving, smile at maximum, a bulging plastic bag half-hidden behind him, and bangs streaked wildly over his face. Striding further inside, Fubuki made a show of stowing the bag under the raised bed, throwing Ryo a wink next.

“Try to act surprised later, okay?”

“I’ll try my best,” Ryo said, deadpan, and-

Fubuki always laughed too hard at such idle comments, like he was relieved to have the capacity to do so at all. Fussing with his bangs, he quickly scooped up the glass vase and strode over to the opposite side of the room, a sink equipped on the end of one counter. Ryo watched him change the water, humming in the gap between his sentences.

“You know, one thing about having a school exclusively for duelists is that no one here can contain their curiosity. It might not be much longer until someone other than me is coming here to talk.”

“Would anyone else bring me roses?” Ryo asked, and the words had slipped out before he could puzzle together their origins. Fubuki’s hands fumbled with the facet. His laughter was strained.

“Well, it’s very, very possible. Ayukawa-sensei already mentioned that you were a famous student here, didn’t she? Although...,” Fubuki added, returning to his side and replacing the flowers. He took the chair next, legs crossed. “If I had to guess, I would say that not everyone is aware of the state of your memories. But, still, those close to you will come to understand that, and they will also give you space if you need it.”

“What I need is more information. This...pace, it’s not enough,” he said plainly, and-

Fubuki did not grab his hand. Rather, Fubuki almost did, sharply curling his fingers in at the last possible moment and then placing them over his knee. Their eyes did not meet. Fubuki’s remained fixated on the simple tile below, and to Ryo, the distance from the edge of his bed to Fubuki’s chair had become a gulf, then an ocean. Water continued to the horizon. But, why?

_ Why _ ?

A hot flash of anger curled in his stomach. 

This...confusion…. This  _ weakness _ seemed more and more like a cruel device that had been grafted onto him, working against the impulses of his own body and the flows of his own thoughts. But, it...shouldn’t be like that, not when he wanted-

He had not said anything. His white knuckles were raised over sheets gathered between twitching fingers. A static rippled inside his head. 

“Oh, Ryo…” Fubuki began. “Your ambition, it’s always been something that I’ve admired, and I know this must be frustrating in a way that, honestly, I probably couldn’t describe even if my feelings were identical to your own at this very moment.” Fubuki’s quiet, measured words were a balm for this uncertainty. He breathed in, noting the intricacies of those syllables and trying, urging himself, to understand what they meant and to not just...revel in their comfort. “The treatment is slow, and I’m sorry. ...Truly, I can never apologize enough for my part in that.” 

The tone urged his heart to slow its rapid pace, to adjust to the languid warmth of this other person. 

“I...just want to be done with this,” he heard himself ground out.

Fubuki smiled at him. He answered quickly.

“I’m sure that you do... Although, there’s a difference between being careless and...putting effort into something. Who knows? Even if you play by the rules, maybe you’ll shock the staff here with how fast your recovery is!”

“I suspect,” Ryo began, both eyebrows raising, “that you were once a very bad influence on me.”

Laughing, Fubuki turned in his chair, fishing out the stowed-away bag. “Well, we can debate that later. For now, it’s time for a very exclusive lunch delivered by yours truly.”

"Do you normally deliver food to people?" Ryo asked, which was apparently hilarious to Fubuki. Smoothly, the student took out a few colourful bottles of what, judging by the labels, were sweet-flavoured drinks, and he placed them on the side table in a neat row. Next, Fubuki removed two small packages with dramatic importance. 

"Many of the younger students are under the impression that the Golden Draw Bread is the greatest prize of all. However, these young, spring souls haven't encountered the legendary Kaiser-Prince double combination, the  _ pairing  _ of the two most excellent of Draw Breads."

"How can two school lunches be 'legendary'?"

"Because, my dear student of the lunchtime rituals," Fubuki teased, passing him one still-wrapped lunch and hefting the other high as he gestured, "the combined aromas of the unwrapped draw breads are truly unmatched. Also, I have it on good accord that you once ate one-hundred lunches of  _ that _ flavour in a row during our first year."

"...Why would I do that?"

Fubuki only laughed at first, rocking back in his chair, and Ryo then eyed the loose edge of his wrapper carefully. According to Ayukawa, memories could be strongly associated with scents, sounds, and, likewise, tastes. 

"Well, maybe you'll find out why! Please, feel free to begin!"

The situation was strange. There was no denying that, but it...contained opportunities, and Ryo methodically folded the wrapper away until he was left holding a plain, white bread with what appeared to be korokke inside. When he glanced over, Fubuki was holding a bun that had glossy pasta noodles spilling through the gap. 

"Spaghetti aglio e olio," Fubuki explained, waving the lunch once with unnecessary flourish. "Academy Island is an environment for students to experience all kinds of tastes. Although, some of the lunches are... _ intense  _ on purpose, and not always in a positive way! This teaches students of the risks of chance, as well as the great rewards.”

"Today you chose these flavours on purpose, even though the wrappers appear to be generic," Ryo said, and, again, Fubuki laughed so easily at his simple words. 

"Indeed. It's true that being able to draw anything you want is a skill, but… Let's just say that finding  _ two  _ with perfect accuracy is another game entirely," Fubuki finished, winking at him. Like that, lunch began. 

Ryo made several observations in the blink of an eye, and he must have frowned. Attentive as usual, Fubuki asked the relevant question. 

"Ah, is everything alright?"

There had to be...a meaning to this. "It's bland."

"...Really?"

"The filling is also overcooked."

"...Hmm. Perhaps Tome-san was distracted."

"But it's still…"

"Hm?"

Shaking his head, he raked a hand through his limp hair. From an unknown source, this statement was being given to him, being pressed into his mind and told to stay there. Like a child was pushing a seashell into dry sand to complete a picture, far enough along the beach that the incoming tide would not reach it.

"This is my favourite lunch."

"...Really? Perhaps I drew a new flavour by mistake. After all, it's been awhile since I tried to find one for you."

Ryo shook his head again, staring at the bitemark. No. No, this...wasn't an error. 

Time stuttered along, his thoughts cycling through the limited scraps of information that he could dare to call evidence. It seemed illogical, for his favourite lunch to be his  _ favourite  _ despite its plain taste. It was precious to him regardless of such a...factor. 

What kind of person had he been? Someone who reached for foolish things? 

Someone who crafted meanings in ways unclear and confusing to others, to even  _ himself  _ now? 

The scent of garlic permeated this confusion, and he cast his stare back onto Fubuki again, unsurprised by the patience that this student -- his dear friend, indisputably -- showed him in return. Fubuki did seem determined in that, to play the role of the person by his bedside despite the idyllic sunlight pouring over the branches outside and the maze of this school around them. 

"Has this always been my favourite?" For a beat, Fubuki just looked at him, and Ryo kept speaking, aware of the tired, grating quality of his own voice. "I doubt t hat a story about school lunches is going to send me into cardiac arrest."

"Ryo, I-"

"I want to know."

"Oh, _that_ expression... You're not going to let up! So, in that case, I suppose it's better for me to tell you rather than leave you frustrated and without an answer at all." Although Fubuki sighed, it wasn't from annoyance or stress. With the flick of a hand, he completed the last fold on his own wrapper, turning it into a paper rose. "Well, I remember seeing you in the lunch hall one day with the pasta bun, which was the one that I had been hoping for. I even tried to duel you for it," Fubuki stated brightly. "Ha. Yes, I even remember the speech I made. A crowd had even formed, since two upcoming stars of Obelisk Blue were on the precipice of a clash."

"What happened next?"

"Hm. Not a duel," Fubuki admitted. "However, we did become close friends as the days passed. I can vividly recall how the first time I brought lunch for us both, you refused to take the pasta bun from me. The other one I had was filled with korokke. ...I assumed that's what sparked your interest in the filling. Ever since then, you always picked it yourself from the other draw bread. Or, if it was my turn, you would thank me for finding it."

"Thank you."

"...R-Ryo?"

"I missed part of our ritual," Ryo said, adjusting the wrapper. The material was thin, flimsy. When he looked up again, Fubuki's eyes were full of an emotion intended for a different version of himself, the flakes of chestnut-brown in his eyes seeming to be tinged as red at their corners as the waiting roses. 

The remainder of the afternoon passed quietly, the recognizable slant of Fubuki's tensed shoulders indicating that, yes, this was challenging for them both, albeit in different ways. When his own strength declined, his body limp against the mattress and weighed down by a sudden fatigue, Fubuki stood up to lower the blinds. To gather the bag and wrappers. 

To use a damp cloth to clean his forehead. 

"Sleep well, Ryo."

\---

It did not take long for Fubuki's prediction to come true. 

While Ryo was attempting to tighten his fingers around a stress ball, the hurried approach of a group sounded from deep within the building, traces of their hurried conversation reaching him. His own name was repeated, shouted. 

After a muffled argument, the hallway door was opened. A short student dressed in blue with cyan hair in waves around his stunned features stumbled inside, and then Ryo was wincing from the arms thrown around his waist, this same person sobbing openly against his chest. "Nii-san!? You… Y-You finally came back to us! I… I-I…"

"Sho! What are you trying to do, strangle him?!" snapped out a raven-haired boy, arms crossed and glare arrogant. 

The girl who had appeared at his bedside was gentler, carefully directing 'Sho' back. "It's alright. Let's take this one step at a time..." Despite her steady tone, her eyes were rimmed with red, and something about her expression was like-

"Oh, my student has returned!"

In tears, a tall, spindly blond man stepped through the open door and rapidly wiped at his face with a floral handkerchief, his ID card clattering to the floor -- forgotten. The girl gave him a sympathetic look, and then she successfully moved Sho to the chair at Ryo's bedside. His brother hiccupped before trying to control his expression, rubbing his fists over his tear-streaked cheeks before adjusting a small pair of round glasses. 

"Nii-san... I… I-I'm going to support you with everything I have, okay? I…"

"Sho, maybe you should give him a second."

The last person to enter the room was waiting by the far wall, leaning one shoulder against it. Brown hair fell aimlessly above his keen eyes, the red flare of jacket likely corresponding to one of the school's dorms. His smile was small, measured. 

Whipping around, Sho seemed caught off guard, and his sentences tumbled out harshly. "O-Of course, Aniki. I'm not  _ trying  _ to rush him! I mean… I wouldn't!"

"That's just a nickname, FYI," the student in red replied, looking at Ryo directly, and that had an impact in the room. The others pivoted, goggled at him. "Kaiser, your memories aren't back yet, are they?"

"So, you can tell by my expression alone," Ryo stated, unblinking as the stare continued. No memories surfaced. He looked away, and Sho let go of his arm. 

Anything he said would be insufficient. 

\---

When Ayukawa found his room containing eleven people (more had burst in at regular intervals, including a slender girl with a stream of navy hair and a muscular boy wearing a fossil necklace), she reacted with a world-weary sigh and  _ then  _ dragged everyone who wasn't himself or his brother outside. Apparently, that group had even included the head of their school, the solemn-looking older man with the maroon jacket. 

"C-Can I, uh, do anything for you?"

He shook his head, regarding the newly emptied spaces around the room, and Sho fidgeted. Like with Fubuki's boundless energy, it was as though Sho moved and bristled to compensate for his own fragility, his many silences.

"....Oh. Oh,  _ now  _ I know what's been going on," was what Sho muttered when he regarded the roses for the first time, the stems bending and a few petals floating on the surface of the water. 

"Are Fubuki's actions that obvious?"

Startled, Sho blinked at him for a beat, and Ryo arched an eyebrow. Eventually, Sho gave him a crooked smile, like one that would normally accompany a sarcastic joke. 

"Actually, I thought that guy had started to date someone, with how he was just  _ running  _ around campus, smiling like a- A-Anyways," Sho added, coughing awkwardly, "it doesn't matter. I'm just... _ so  _ glad that you're here."

"Although, you wish that I wasn't in this state."

"That's just secondary. Plus, this seems a lot like what happened with Darkness, which was difficult for everyone, of course, but it still meant that a missing person had returned.”

"I see."

“Also, in case no one has already told you, if there’s  _ anyone  _ who would manage to recover from  _ anything _ through willpower alone, it would have to be my big brother.”

His lips quirked up at that. “Yes, I had that impression.”

“...Ayukawa-sensei’s probably more worried about you going overboard than anything else,” Sho added, leaning his chin on one hand. His gaze was on the windows. “One time, you fractured your leg when you were at boarding school. Apparently, the school nurse tried to, like, confine you to the dorms until you healed. You just wouldn’t stay still, and it drove everyone  _ nuts _ . You even signed up for a skiing trip overseas.”

“That doesn’t sound like me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry to say this, Nii-san, but it  _ was  _ you.”

Clipboard in hand, Ayukawa chose that moment to return, and Sho went silent throughout her questions and level statements. He waited with a grave sort of determination, blatantly trying to follow and memorize Ayukawa’s actions. The concern was obvious, and yet this version of himself could not reciprocate beyond just noticing it, registering it. 

He had become a lacking person, and that frustration was the wick for an anger to burn.

\---

While his stamina had marginally improved, he remained susceptible to bouts of fatigue that would vanish hours off of each day, seemingly at random. When he opened his eyes again, the water for the roses had been changed. Their heads hung low, black twisting along their delicate petals. The green leaves had dried out.

Approximately thirty minutes later, Ayukawa found him lying face-down on the floor, one hand clawed in the sleeve of the black jacket that he had worn by the shoreline and the other curled-in on itself. The duel disk was somewhere to his left, the cards still inside the slot. 

Even though he was taller and broader than she was, Ayukawa dropped to her knees, worked one arm under his chest, and hauled him back to the bed. And, again, there were two opposing reactions inside of his head: the need to thank her (--be respectful, despite all inconveniences, because anything else is--) and the urge to remain silent (--why should extraneous things be acknowledged? Victory alone is all that--). 

He closed his eyes, considering it. 

He allowed the first opponent to win.

“Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem,” she replied, folding the jacket next. She retrieved the duel disk. “Marufuji-kun, what were you trying to do?” 

“The cards hold information about who I am.”

She did not move closer, the duel disk at her side. “Was that your only motivation?”

“Yes.”

“Are you...certain about that?”

“Yes.”

At that, she stepped towards the chair, regarding him purposefully. If he wanted to be  _ given  _ more information than this, then showing his capabilities could prove beneficial. 

“I understand your position. Tenjouin Fubuki was distrustful of the medical staff and tried to escape when he suffered from the same condition that I have now.”

Ayukawa’s earrings clacked together as she stilled, hand hovering for a beat over the back of the chair, and her motions turned stiff. She sat down, the duel disk held tightly with both hands. “I… How did you-?”

“He described my condition very accurately when we ‘first’ met. Besides that, he apologized for my treatment being at the pace it currently is, which wouldn’t make sense unless he was involved in setting a precedent.”

“That...alone shouldn’t be enough for you to form such a theory.”

“Previously, you emphasized the importance of me trusting in you and the other staff. Fubuki spoke of ‘believing’ in each other as well.”

“Okay… But what about the ‘escape’ aspect?”

“My position on the floor wasn’t that far from the doors leading to the courtyard outside, and you were suspicious of my story about the deck. If someone was desperate to escape, they might consider that route instead of navigating the building. Of course, it’s very likely for those doors and the windows to be locked.” He paused, waiting for an interjection. There was none. “Although, people who feel cornered can be willing to take serious risks.”

“Did you use any other evidence?”

Memories. She was searching for signs that he had recovered more of his memories. He ground down on his back teeth, inhaling as a hiss. He focused.

“Nothing more substantial than intuition. Fubuki is...exceptional in understanding my limitations.”

“Okay. I-"

“I have no reason to lie,” he said, syllables catching and growing harsh. “Use any tests you want to confirm it. My only goal is to recover information so that I can  _ remember  _ my purpose for returning here. I was someone with a limited future. I died, and yet… I...”

His vision blurred, his heart bashing out a demon’s rhythm that threatened to tear into his insides, to make this damaged part of him split open and finally,  _ finally  _ stop beating. Cool hands were on his forehead, easing him into the blankets and over the pillows, but such attempts were cut through by the tunneling, burrowing pain on it all, his vision going white. 

(Within the heavy fog, he could see the shapes of the other prisoners begin to rise up, reacting to the grand ring of light that had formed in the dark sky and begun to fracture in twelve equal parts. Flat on his back, he existed unseen below the gloom, and the others were pulled into the opening cuts of another reality. A sapphire-blue ocean spread out ahead of them, framing Fubuki's face in profile. The ground underneath him turned to liquid. It rose over his legs, continued to his throat, pooled in his eyes, and then all was shadow.)

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ten": Fubuki does his little name chant in episodes 47 and 60, I believe. I tried to write it as awkwardly as possible since My Dude is a bit Overwhelmed, to put it lightly. 
> 
> Canon Notes: The basic premise here is that after being defeated by Yubel!Johan, Ryo slips into the same prison dimension as Manjoume, Fubuki, and the others (which is discussed in episodes 153, 154, and 156), but he passes into the world of Darkness instead of returning to Duel Academia alongside them at the end of season 3. Hence, he washes up on the beach later in season 4 after escaping the world of Darkness, with some memory loss to mirror Fubuki’s experience from season 1. Although, it’s supposed to be a little different as well, given that Ryo was never fully possessed by Darkness here.
> 
> In terms of season 1, I’m assuming that Fubuki doesn’t recover most of his memories as Fubuki rather than his Darkness persona until episode 41, which features Asuka’s duel against Titan. By episode 47, he has recovered more of his memories, to the extent that he’s acting ‘like Fubuki’ again. From episode 159, Fubuki says something like, “All this time, I’ve averted my eyes from the truth,” regarding his memories of Fujiwara, and he duels Judai to learn more about his past. I’m going to interpret that here as Fubuki still has an ongoing struggle with his memories all the way into season 4, even though he’s very much himself from episode 47 and onward.
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, I’m, err, bending canon aggressively to make Fubuki’s recovery period from season 1 a bit longer and more involved than what was shown in the episodes. I run away very quickly. I leap into the ocean.


	2. Chapter 2

\---

Rasping through the trees along the bank, the wind carried with it the ocean’s salt scent, and the stray leaves, petals, and bits of grass caught in its grasp were swiftly pulled away. It flung his hair back from his face, brought patches of cold over his bare hands, but even these were precious sensations, he knew. The fine hairs on his wrists stood up from the ocean breeze. 

The majesty of this island was compounded by each new crash of the waves, each rustle of the green canopies and the refrain of the wind. The grassy bank overlooked a curved section of the beach, scattered shells and pieces of driftwood over the yellow-white sand. The darker, damp sections contained seaweed, spread amongst large pebbles dredged from unknown depths. 

“Hmm. The view from here is one of the best on the island. Does it suit you?” Fubuki asked, stopping the wheelchair. Ryo nodded. Compared to the clinical room, the outside world was a vibrant, living thing, the details of it endless. Focusing on a patch of earth would reveal small stones, insects. Squinting made even the minute differences in the colours deepen. 

With a dramatic flourish, Fubuki opened the camping chair, spun it once, and sat down at his side. Fubuki also seemed to suddenly be in possession of a ukulele.

It did suit him. 

"A glorious day like this is ideal for our first lunchtime session in the great outdoors," Fubuki began, and then he strummed the instrument. "It would have been far more dramatic to just steal you away, however. Alas, I should be grateful that your doctors allowed this humble outing at all."

In the gap between his revelation and this visit from his friend, his determination had been fortified even further. He had already made the decision to speak.

"I know that you suffered from the same condition as I do now."

The beginnings of a melody ended abruptly, Fubuki's fingers frozen over the strings, and Ryo waited. He waited for Fubuki to continue. He waited for the traces of that song to dredge up knowledge from the shadows, just as he waited for the cold rush of the breeze to do  _ more  _ than just seem...familiar. 

"It's true that no one should underestimate the Kaiser, especially when he's on a mission. Sooner than later, I...expected you to say that to me," Fubuki admitted, throwing Ryo a smile that was too wide, too practiced. "I have been wondering if my own experiences could help you in some way. There could be a hint in there, I suppose."

"That's not why I told you."

"Ryo?"

"I told you because you have a right to know who you're speaking to. I'm a person who is now aware of your hardships." Ryo met Fubuki's gaze, and he found himself wearing a small grin. There was no reason not to. "Fubuki, I'll find a different way to retrieve my memories."

Whistling, the breeze rushed in from the water and through the gaps between them, tossing Fubuki's long hair and letting it fall aimlessly. Some strands curled at the ends like strokes of dark ink, and the eyes locked on Ryo's own were gleaming copper over their soothing depths. Despite the energy that characterized so many of Fubuki's actions, there were thin, lavender smudges under his lower lashes, and it would have been impossible to just brush them away with his knuckles like loose pollen. 

His heart pulsed strangely inside his chest, audible and clanging but not painful. Regardless, the moment could not remain for much longer, and Ryo turned back to the waves as Fubuki, picking at the ukulele, cleared his throat. 

"During our little trip today, I had wanted to make a suggestion based on my past. I don't want to imply that I'm ignoring your convictions. Really, I'm not. I appreciate them." Fubuki continued, tone steady while he settled into a rhythm. "I'm giving you the option of choosing to hear it or not."

"I don't need it."

"Of course, of course… Actually, the suggestion isn't even my own. Rather, it's one that you graciously gifted to me, back when I was suspicious of...so many things." Before Ryo could respond, Fubuki laughed. "Ah, sorry. Here I am, focusing on that past when you've explained your distaste for it."

"You can talk about the past for  _ your  _ sake. It belongs to you."

"Hmm… But you don't want me to delve into it for  _ your  _ sake?"

“The decision has to be your own.”

"...Stubborn," Fubuki observed, shaking his head, and he rapped his knuckles against the ukulele once. "Well, my dear friend, are you ready to experience my exclusive lunch delivery service again?"

It was true that Ryo had no idea where Fubuki had hidden the bag, and he frowned when a wrapped draw bread was held out to him. Fubuki wiggled it when he just regarded it. Observed.

Even sealed, the package smelled like garlic. 

"The other one is my favourite."

Fubuki wiggled it with renewed enthusiasm. Ryo did not take the 'bait’, as it were. 

"It's fine, really! If there's a chance of it being bland again, you can take mine! I'll gallantly offer it to you as a-"

"I don't want it."

With booming laughter, Fubuki rocked back in his chair. "Oh, you  _ are  _ serious. Ah, how am I supposed to combat the Kaiser when he's on the defensive? Difficult, difficult…"

"I'm not going to change my mind."

"Naturally," Fubuki stated, and he swapped the packages with a wink. "I'll save the arguments until we have access to a duel arena."

Peeling back the first layer, Ryo felt himself frown. "Ayukawa has my deck in her office."

"Oh? Perhaps we should stage a rescue operation."

"Don't tempt me."

"Sorry for being a 'bad influence,'" Fubuki smoothly answered, and Ryo took his first bite, watching how Fubuki folded his wrapper on the back of the ukulele. It wouldn't be a rose; that design had started with a fold across the entire wrapper. Dividing it in half. 

"You always do that."

A curiosity charged Fubuki's noble features, and, again, Ryo's heart clenched differently. 

"You found a memory, didn't you?"

"That design means you're making a bird. Not a crane. It's from another species," Ryo explained, concentrating as Fubuki hurriedly creased more white-blue material. The final creation was revealed with the swoop back of Fubuki's right hand like a curtain. The paper dove rested on the ukulele. The wings were tucked against its sides. 

\---

"Oh, I suppose it's time for a new bouquet," was what Fubuki lamented as he turned the wheelchair until it was perpendicular to the bed. The roses had wilted, as was inevitable. No amount of care could negate the natural laws. When Ryo just extended one arm to the side, Fubuki blinked at him like he'd, for example, repeated the suggestion to raid Ayukawa's office. Seconds passed. 

Ryo took the direct approach. 

"You should help me up."

"Y-Yes, of course! Gladly!" 

Throughout the transfer, it was necessary for him to concentrate, steadying each movement of his own body and shifting from Fubuki's gentle but sturdy hold to the surface of the bed. Although, Fubuki did go...overboard, as seemed to be his default state. None of the medical staff fluffed his blankets  _ that  _ much. Fubuki gave the pillows a disapproving scoff after he fussed with them. 

If someone replaced both plain, blue pillows in the dead of the night, Ryo would be able to confirm who the 'culprit' was, easily. 

"Hmm… Oh! Did you want to take your robe off? I could help you change those pajamas too," Fubuki stated, the wink extremely unnecessary, and Ryo rolled his eyes. 

\---

Twelve roses were in bloom the next morning, a blue bow neatly tied around the ornate vase that held them, and looking at them could only create a melting feeling, a patch of summer light hidden away inside his chest. 

...Ah. 

He sat up slowly. He folded in his hands in his lap. 

A piece of his broken past had washed up onto the beach, blazing against the dull grains. He imagined it as a shard of ceramic, bearing with it a delicate but incomplete design in white and blue.

The illustrations on the completed ceramic could correspond to a narrative. It was unclear still, what lay behind the ragged boundaries of his love for Tenjouin Fubuki. Perhaps he had kept it secret. Perhaps he had tried to erase all signs of this love. Or perhaps he had carried it with him as a treasure, a mark of honour. 

For now, it remained a borderless fragment, and in the quiet, he closed his eyes, breathing in. The scent of the roses carried.

\---

"Just to be clear, you don't have to wait for your friend to show up if you want to go outside," Sho stated, eyebrows in a determined 'v' beneath his shaggy hair.

"I know that."

"So… Do you want to go outside?" 

"Not now."

"Okay! That's fine! But let me know if you change your mind, okay? Please?" Sho said all at once. When Ryo just looked at him, the earnest and too-eager person bouncing in place at his bedside, Sho quickly continued. "If there's a way that I can help you, no matter how small, then I want to do it."

"Your condition has improved lately," Ayukawa noted as she returned from the opposite side of the room, pulling a second chair with her and glancing fondly at the roses. "I suppose we could try explaining a few more things about the school, right?" she said to Sho, and he nodded in a blur. 

"Sure, Ayukawa-sensei! Leave it to me!"

"Of course, that means it's your responsibility to speak up if this becomes stressful," Ayukawa stated next, her almond-shaped eyes on Ryo again. He inclined his head. "So, is there a particular topic that you're curious about? If you've been thinking about one in particular, this could mean that you're closing in on a memory."

The shard of painted ceramic that was this love -- an emotion that had fallen out of time -- could not be brought up here. Not at this moment, without Fubuki’s own approval. It may not be shared knowledge. 

"I'll listen to whatever either one of you choses to say," Ryo said, and both Sho and Ayukawa squinted at him, perplexed. Sho recovered first, loudly clearing his throat and sitting up board-straight. 

"Okay, this isn't going to be easy, but maybe I should talk about everything that happened during my last year. So, Professor Cobra taking over, the school falling into another dimension, and...everything after that. While a lot of it isn’t  _ directly  _ relevant to you, the parts that  _ are  _ won’t make sense without the whole story."

The ‘whole story’ was delayed by a discussion between Ayukawa and Sho on the length of it (“Marufuji-kun, I don’t think we’re going to be able to cover  _ all  _ of those events today.”) and then by a delivery boy, the panel by the door buzzing. After Ayukawa had tapped at a few buttons, he entered while plainly struggling with an arrangement of chrysanthemums in all colours. As Sho awkwardly tried to fit them on the side table, a plain, white card slipped out and landed on the bed. 

In slanted black characters, the message inside read,  _ ‘Fix your heart before coming back to the pro league, otherwise a match against me might really be your end’ _ .

Ryo chuckled. Whoever this ' _ EDO _ ' was, they had to be an interesting person.

“What are-? Huh?! Where did  _ that  _ come from?” Sho blurted out, picking up the card. His reaction to the message was immediate and unrestrained. “W-What’s wrong with this guy?! I swear, the next time I run into him, I'm going to…"

“Some people have a dark sense of humor about these things,” Ayukawa observed.

“Okay, but  _ besides  _ that… These flowers are  _ actually  _ a pain. They’re, like, trying to push the vase off!”

“If ‘Edo’ is a professional duelist, then it’s likely that he didn’t buy them himself. The card was also written quickly. You can tell by the strokes,” Ryo stated, and Sho, entering into another physical alteration with the chrysanthemums, snorted. 

“I bet that he told his assistant to order the most annoying flowers available, just to be even  _ more  _ of a jerk.”

“It’s possible.”

“...Yeah, yeah. It’s all  _ very  _ funny,” Sho grumbled, swatting at a stubborn flower head, and then he turned back to Ryo. Tears suddenly overflowed from behind the half-circle glasses, trailing down Sho’s young face, and the sobs made his thin shoulders spasm. “O-Oh, I-I’m sorry, I j-just… I  _ hoped  _ to see you again, Nii-san, but it’s…still so...incredible, that you’re really back. ...Really,  _ really  _ back.”

“You don't have to apologize,” Ryo said, and- A grin played over his lips, Sho hiccupping and then going still. “Sho, once I remember why I came back, I’ll tell you. I can’t confirm it yet, but it could be something that I could use your help with.”

Sho began to smile. At its widest, it glowed. "Of course, Nii-san!"

\---

"And that's when everyone used their own monsters to widen the dimensional rift," was the last sentence of the story that Sho had given him before Ayukawa -- attentive to the monitors -- quietly ushered him out of the room. It was, indeed, perfect timing, as his body had crumpled against the pillows the moment that the door had slid shut. His eyelids were down, each breath deep. 

Given the fact that Sho and most of the others he had mentioned (Jim, for example, was still just a name) were currently at this school, their dimensional transportation must have been reversed at some point. The visions of that isolated place being fractured by light seemed to support his theory. They also suggested why his own return had been different, delayed. 

He was the only one who had drowned in that hidden place, taken in by an ever-moving wealth of shadows. 

At some undisclosed point before that, Fubuki had likely suffered that same fate as well, given that their symptoms were so closely related, and it-

It was wrong. 

It messed with his head, for someone like that to have been engulfed by the shadows and made to swallow them whole. His own subjugation was enraging, and yet, for Tenjouin Fubuki to have been submerged in that hell-

Eyes open, he listened to his own ragged breathing. He tried to slow it, control it, but the broken sounds persisted in this space. 

(In the cloaked depths, all light was extinguished. Pools of infinite black encircled him, and each new, eager shadow that slid around his throat in the parody of a lover’s embrace tried to  _ take  _ with it some of his remaining fight, his pride. Dead people didn’t need such things, they whispered, and as an individual without a future, all he could ever  _ be  _ was dead. And-)

He lifted a shaking hand to his throat, closing it over the skin. Underneath were no...branch-like inflammations. Those constructions had been indicative of Darkness working more shadows past his back teeth and deep, deep into this weakened body. His reason for returning had been enough to finally banish them. Rip them out.

Pour light over this barbed and cruel form of darkness like a torch against a nightmare’s perfected monster.

Curling his fingers in, he felt down from his chin to his jugular notch.

At first, after the door had opened again, no one passed over the threshold. It was a check to determine if he was awake, and then Fubuki stepped through with his radiant smile on. His head swiveled in the direction of the chrysanthemums. 

“My dear Kaiser, it seems that the first of your distant admirers has made a move. How charming!”

“Is ‘Edo’ an ‘admirer’ of mine?” Ryo asked, dropping his limp hand to his side, and Fubuki’s smile turned challenging.

“Oh, this means  _ war _ .”

“...’War’?”

“Well, since we’ve been friends for so long, I can’t possibly let Edo Phoenix have a grander display of affection for you. My heart would never recover from the injustice of it all,” Fubuki stated, voice booming as he pivoted, and Ryo arched an eyebrow at the theatrics. “Oh. Are you feeling alright? Your colouring is...”

“The fatigue is still here,” he admitted, and then Fubuki’s knee was on the bed, pressing into it, and a warm hand was covering his forehead. At this proximity, Fubuki’s scent closed in and crowded him, but he found that he didn’t mind it at all -- it was a comforting state to be in, to exist surrounded by this heady, rich mixture laced through with something floral. 

Like Fubuki himself, the scent was strong, to the point of being impossible to ignore, and yet the depth to it was just as undeniable. The floral aspects were delicate, as if Fubuki had taken fresh rose petals and tucked them between his loose strands of hair, and while they could not compete with the rich cologne, they altered it regardless.

“Your temperature seems to be normal. Ayukawa-sensei said it should be monitored carefully,” Fubuki commented, and Ryo’s gaze remained on the fall of his brunet hair, slipping over one shoulder. Some strands curled tightly at the ends. 

A fragmented love had its own weight, despite it being bereft of the contexts that justified why his thoughts stilled as they did now. This person commanded his focus, and just as quickly as the contact had begun, it was severed. Fubuki sat down. Their eyes did not meet. 

“Ah, I apologize. Without your memories, such actions can be surprising. Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Ryo answered, and-

This knowledge couldn’t just remain a secret. He opened his mouth again. Shut it.

Grit his teeth.

“Ryo?”

And yet, presenting it foolishly could hurt this person, like digging that shard of a memory into skin. His own silence became unwanted. It fit him strangely, and when Fubuki quietly rose and then returned with a glass of water, he took it just to click his blunt nails against the surface. 

“I can’t stay like this,” was what he finally said, and he noticed it, how Fubuki began to reach out to him only to stop part way. Some reflexes could indeed be buried deep, like his own to look over and wait for such a touch. The expected series of interactions was now incomplete. 

“You’ve made progress. A lot of progress, actually. Compared to me, you…” Fubuki trailed off, and there must have been a time when his own past self had reassured Fubuki with a palm over his shoulder. Now, his hand hovered over the plain sheet, and it took strength to raise it. He moved slowly by necessity, but even if he could have rushed, he wouldn’t have. 

He would never have rushed this.

He let Fubuki observe every part of this gesture. There were many chances to stop it.

Dark eyes with interlaced shades of brown watched him with an emotion he could not name, even if a familiarity sparked on the very edges of his mind -- like the cast-off light of distant fireworks, flickering over a shrouded scene of the night. His pale fingers seemed to meld with Fubuki’s uniform jacket, and he felt it when Fubuki, blinking away the fine sheen over his irises, shuddered.

This emotion meant something to Fubuki. That alone was certain.

"You should only speak about it if you want to, not for my sake."

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," Fubuki stated quietly, and his shoulder lowered slightly, responding to the deep, steadying breath that Fubuki took. Like before, there were visible signs of Fubuki's own fatigue: the purple-grey smudges of his dark circles were still present. "What I feel for you is a part of those memories. Yes, the memories of my recovery may belong to me, but you were...there, Ryo. I cannot stop myself from acknowledging that. It colours my thoughts, my actions."

"I understand. We can talk about that part of the past, but we should come with a rule to control the discussion first."

Fubuki hummed to himself. "I see. Did you have any ideas?"

Lifting his hand, Ryo then placed it back over the sheets. Someone had lowered the blinds during his exhausted daze, the canopy of the forest hidden. The fountain outside was on, sparkling as the water flowed. "We can't predict how a discussion of your recovery could affect us both. I'm not how I used to be," he said as an example, a frown contorting his face. "Therefore, if either of us say a certain word or make a certain gesture, we should stop it immediately."

"Do you have any such words or gestures in mind?"

He straightened, his gaze directed down to his own hands. His knuckles were a collection of grey-white peaks, a dash of red at the very top of each one. "It should be simple. Just an outstretched palm would work."

"I… I...really am in awe of you."

An odd declaration, and when faced with it, he couldn't interpret Fubuki's expression at all. There were too many things held in that gaze, and he couldn't answer any of them. Not even one. 

Licking his lips, Fubuki glanced away, and he directed his new, softer smile towards the wall. 

"I almost suggested the same rule and gesture when we were outside, by the beach. It...was  _ your  _ rule, Ryo."

"I suggested it during your recovery," Ryo heard himself say, the question suddenly becoming a statement. As something in bloom, Fubuki's pleased smile widened. 

"Yes, you did. After I had become...responsive, I would fall into periods of confusion. A conversation could abruptly become too painful for me to continue. I would feel as though the darkness had returned, that the happiness I was holding onto was just a trick. Like...a shape made of smoke that was gradually being stolen away by the wind." Fubuki smiled despite those words, and Ryo's fingers clenched. "Truly, everyone fought hard for my sake, and I'm grateful for that, especially to you and Asuka for staying with me for so long. Sometimes, you, Ryo, would be there all through the night."

"I would also come to your room after you were released."

"...Did...you remember that?" Fubuki asked, smile wavering for a beat, and Ryo could only be honest -- insufficient at the reply seemed. 

"I know it happened. Your nightmares continued for weeks."

"Really, I'm...relieved that your recovery is so different from mine… Your nights are calmer. Or, at least, they appear to be that way."

Ryo tilted his head to the side. Either one of the staff had reported to Fubuki about his sleeping state, or-

"You've been watching me sleep."

When Fubuki very carefully cleared his throat, Ryo felt his chest shake, and then his laughter was ringing out, the  _ burst  _ of it satisfying in a way that overwhelmed him, from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. The sound continued, only growing more boisterous, energetic, and Fubuki joined in towards the end.

"That's not very royal behaviour, 'Blizzard Prince,'" Ryo stated, eyebrows high, and Fubuki's smile was at its peak, making it a very bright, fascinating thing. 

"Ah, but it  _ is _ important to check on a friend who is...indisposed, let's say," Fubuki smoothly began. "I must emphasize, however, that I've never stayed for long."

"Hm. The staff probably wouldn't allow it," Ryo stated, and he was right, given how Fubuki just hummed and shrugged. Such obstacles were, evidently, minor compared to their nebulous 'connection'. 

"Perhaps I'm just biding my time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to whisk you away. The combined powers of my determination and this ID card should not be taken lightly, after all."

"Sure."

"Aww, don't sound so doubtful! It's a romantic thought, isn't it?"

Ryo snorted, and despite their earlier determination to discuss memories of darkness, they only talked about idle things from there. The sunlight that slipped inside gradually lost its blazing edge. A lull in the conversation extending for too long was the first clear indication that, yes, his limits were being more than only pushed now.

He leaned against the pillow. He breathed in, and Fubuki's scent was there, a strong presence over him as the blankets were adjusted. Each movement was tracked by the rustling fabric, and Ryo reached out for Fubuki's wrist. He found it, clasped his fingers around it.

The contact was needed to make Fubuki understand the strength of this conviction, despite how soft his own voice had become. 

"Fubuki, I'm going to keep fighting this. I won't leave you waiting for the answers you're looking for."

“You’re too sweet,” Fubuki answered, playful but with an undercurrent that made his voice shake, on the verge of losing that easy lilt entirely. Ryo tightened his grip, marginal as it was. “Get some rest. Perhaps you’ll be visited by a handsome prince in the moonlight. That’s a charming thought, isn’t it?”

Instead of rasping out a soft answer, Ryo let his hand drop down until his fingers skimmed over Fubuki’s knuckles, sliding between the dips, and even though his senses had weakened, he caught how Fubuki gasped and then trembled. The skin below his touch felt like it was below a summer’s sun at its apex despite the darkened room, and with a purposeful caution, Fubuki carefully adjusted his hand until his fingers were brushing at Ryo’s own, seeking the spaces in between them as water curls into grooves in the sand.

It was Ryo’s task to complete the hold, spreading his fingers and moving his hand forward until Fubuki’s warmth was over him, threaded with his own. Such contact could only be temporary, and yet, the meaning ran deeper than that, gesturing towards the shrouded depths of this past. In those final moments of hazy consciousness, Fubuki stayed at his bedside, their hands together, and his thoughts turned again and again to the image of black water swirling out to the horizon. The crests turned grey-white in the moonlight, and, at regular intervals, a block of yellow would fall and illuminate all within its gasp. The source was-

At the harbour, there was a lighthouse that rose tall, and he had waited there -- sometimes alone, often with Tenjouin Asuka at his side, her hands clasped behind her back. The constant murmur of the water would flood the gaps in their conversations, the whispers of the ocean compounding into a chaotic song. Regardless, he had found it calming, as there were always new intricacies to isolate and consider, small fluctuations in rhythm that he could just... _ focus  _ on. Hold onto. Keep protected inside his head.

Fubuki’s thumb ran a circle over the back of his hand.

It was staggering, how strongly he had missed this person. 

Because of that feeling, he had never wanted to experience the sting of a true lose again, and-

(Within the barred arena, he had ceased to function as a person, every fiber of this body now a component designed to achieve and channel that single,  _ aching  _ thrill called ‘victory.’ All else was redundant, and a brutal laugh shook him as he watched his opponent collapse from the shocks, limbs twitching in harsh angles. Amplifying the rush of this domination, his own heart slammed desperately within his chest, its booming mantra increasing in volume, and the crowd cheered out for a duel on the edge of spilling blood.)

-his own unexamined fears had taken him to strange, strange places.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory: I love Edo. I love him so much. He's harsh sometimes, and I Appreciate That.


	3. Chapter 3

\---

“You sure you’re not cold?” Sho chirped out as he directed the wheelchair towards the edge of the grassy field, loose sand in front of it and then the rhythmic lapping of the waves. The tide was coming in. “...Nii-san?”

“I am, but that’s fine.”

“...’That’s fine’?”

“It’s always warm in the clinic.”

“...So, you’re a fan of the difference?” Sho asked, and when Ryo didn’t respond, as it would be entirely redundant, he sighed. “Nii-san, if you’re _actually_ cold, then we should go back.”

“It’s not a problem.” 

“... _Okay_.” Unlike Fubuki, Sho had a tendency to hold onto the wheelchair’s handles for as long as possible. Despite that, he seemed to be in constant motion, either fidgeting or gesturing. It was if Sho simply had too much to say and let the unsaid words be transferred into little flicks of his wrists, shuffles in place over the short grass. “Oh. Uh, I did notice that Ayukawa-sensei still has your deck in her office. Did you want to talk with her about that?”

“Results would be more useful than anything I could say,” Ryo observed, and Sho hummed, tapping his fingers on the handles. 

“I ran into Judai this morning, and he said something pretty weird about the deck. Like, I didn’t even _know_ he had been thinking about it or...looking at it? Anyways,” Sho blurted out, continuing quickly, “he was like, ‘Sho, make sure that the Kaiser looks at those cards carefully before he plays them,’ and then he walked away…? I don’t know. He _does that_ sometimes.”

“You mentioned that Judai and several others can communicate with duel spirits. It could be related to that ability.””

“...Huh. That’s...a good point.” Clearing his throat, Sho resumed tapping the handles, and this time, the pause seemed weighted, purposeful. Ryo tilted his head back. “Oh! I-It’s nothing, really. I was...wondering why you’re so calm about someone else having your deck. We’re taught that a deck is like a person’s soul, and I’m...surprised that you’re not reacting to that in a, err, stronger way.”

Looking to the waves again, Ryo considered his reply. “A soul changes over time. That deck, it might have reached out more intensely to a different version of myself.”

“That’s...also a good point,” Sho said, awed. Far out, a tall wave rose and, with a steep bow, began to curl in on itself, and Ryo found himself blinking at it in surprise.

He had used to take a long way back from his Duel History class and then stand on the beach until Fubuki had waved at him, balancing perfectly on his board despite the rough waters. Whenever Fubuki had sauntered into the Obelisk Blue dorms afterward, he had carried with him that salt scent, patches of his bodysuit gleaming and tight over his chest, and-

Oh.

“Nii-san?” Sho asked, peering at him curiously.

“I remembered something.”

“R-Really? What is it?!”

“I can’t explain it to you.”

“...That bad, huh?”

“It wasn't a negative experience,” Ryo clarified, deadpan. He knew that Sho was examining the back of his head critically. On cue, Sho made a choked-off laugh that scattered into small giggles.

“ _Ah_ , I get it. It’s a memory that’s ‘not safe for work,’ right?”

“I'm not going to answer that.”

“...That just confirms it, by the way.” The giggling began as a small titter of sound, escalating until Sho had to bury his head in his hands. “S-Sorry, s-sorry. I’m the _worst_ right now. Super disrespectful. Um, l-let’s just eat lunch, okay?”

If nothing else, the new memory only confirmed that his past self had a well-established fascination with Tenjouin Fubuki. Often, Fubuki had used the shower in Ryo’s dorm room to wash off the salt water, humming beneath the spray before belting out the choruses of various pop songs. After appearing in a fog of steam and wearing a low-cut velvet robe that Ryo definitely did not own and would appear as if by magic on such occasions, Fubuki would then lounge on Ryo's bed, and, together, they would just...stay for hours, until it became late enough that paper-white moths were fluttering over the balcony and the shafts of light had thinned. Like folds of delicate cloth that only the loom of dusk could make.

"Here, I had Judai pick these out, so they should be good," Sho commented as he passed Ryo a drawbread and sat down cross-legged on the grass, tearing into his own package with a child-like, enviable enthusiasm. "...Aniki _actually_ gave me the _golden_ one?! Honestly…. He’s something else. Oh, by the way," Sho said next, looking up at him with an honest smile, "it's cool that your favourite flavour is so unique. Most people fight over the golden yolk because it's famous, I think."

This memory arrived with the same immediacy as the one that had preceded it.

Indeed, this flavour wasn't his favourite because of its taste alone. Rather, it was because that taste reminded him of the first time Fubuki had approached him for an afternoon together. From that point, it had become a comforting thing, to take his place at Fubuki's side while they ate and discussed things that were, on the surface, idle and meaningless.

However, the feelings they conveyed had been anything but that.

\---

Inside that room at the clinic, his first discussion with Fubuki on the darkness of the past began in an unorthodox way: Ryo was, admittedly, distracted by the massive new arrangement of red roses that barely fit on the already-full side table. 

Fubuki had also opted to wear a suit for an unknown reason. 

It was very obvious from only the first few words from Fubuki that their recovery experiences greatly differed. Hence, it did seem possible that the severity of his own symptoms was related to the amount of time that he had spent inside the dark sea of a dimension. If so, Fubuki must have been under those waters for so much longer, made to envy the dazzling surface that lingered out of reach.

Of course, Fubuki as he was now noticed Ryo's clenched teeth, his balled-up hands, and the response was a touch to his wrist, like the beginning of a question. Ryo could only take his hand then. His own rage was winter's storm, and it seemed very strange for Fubuki to be the one associated with a blizzard: a flurry of unrestrained wind and ice. Just the curl of Fubuki’s fingers over his seemed to melt him down, to reveal a weakness hiddenbelow many harsh layers and, in turn, nurture it into a strength. 

"You really are sweet, Ryo," Fubuki stated then, flashing a broad smile as he met Ryo's eyes. "A knight in shining armor."

"I'm currently a 'knight' in his pajamas," Ryo corrected, and Fubuki's fingers tightened as he laughed, a full sound. Together, they did make for an oddly dressed pair: together for an after-dinner revenue, one member of the party in blue flannel and a robe and the other in a tailor-perfect three-piece suit, the tie a tamed blossom of red against a clean white collar. 

"Don't worry. I'll find something _much_ grander to dress you up in the next time we go to a party together."

"...I'm not sure I should agree to that," Ryo stated, making Fubuki laugh again, and he felt himself smile. At first, it was small. With time, it settled in, adapted to this temperature. 

"You also seem to be exempt from the sudden forgetfulness that I experienced as well," Fubuki said next, returning to the topic without a change to his tone. "For example, even after I was released, I would occasionally forget who my charming sister was, incredible as that sounds."

"The force known as Darkness, it had a draining effect on me, like the longer that I stayed within it, the less of me would continue to exist. This effect might be connected to our memory loss, and your own forgetfulness could be an extension of it as well."

"Hmm. That would make sense, at least conceptually."

"I doubt we're going to understand how magic works anytime soon," Ryo observed, blankly, and Fubuki's thumb zig-zagged over his skin. A playful action. "Therefore, it seems more productive to examine the phenomenon in terms of what its effects were."

"The displacement of one's sense of self and the treasured bonds that maintain it, achieved by clearing away the past and trying to block the future.”

"Eloquent."

"Ah, I'll take that compliment," Fubuki purred, shaking their joined hands, and from his cheerful disposition alone, it did seem as though they were discussing the view outside. The weather. Something related to the activities of the school. 

Ryo held up his free hand. 

Stop.

"Oh! Well, we can move on to more interesting topics then," Fubuki smoothly continued, turning around to grin at the plethora of roses. "For example, this arrangement has a meaning behind it, one that only the silent language of flowers can express."

"Fubuki."

"Hmm? What is it?" Fubuki asked, attentive again. There was a similar tension to his face when he dueled seriously -- Ryo knew that. He had pieced together the scattered images with a deliberate care, connecting their edges.

"I stopped because there is something I have to say, something that I need to focus for. It might require deliberation on your part as well, but…" He inhaled, grimaced down at the sheets. He raised himself again. Fubuki continued to hold his hand with an even pressure. "I know more than you might have realized. I...have an idea about who you truly are to me."

"...Ah, I see," Fubuki commented, and the squeeze to Ryo's hand was likely meant to be reassuring. "I suppose that a combination of your returning memories and my own actions have made this a very simple puzzle for you to...solve, as it were. After all," Fubuki said next, his gaze steady and confident and gripping within its frame of night-dark lashes, "I am the person who has been gifted with this love for you, and try as I may, I'll never be able to hide how radiant it truly is."

His confusion must have shown, as Fubuki smoothly transitioned into a different speech, lifting their clasped hands as he gestured.

"My dearest Ryo, the path ahead may seem unclear, but I will remain vigilant at your side. We can step towards the future together, witnessing the things only it can hold in perfect unison, and if you'll have it, then my heart will continue to be-"

"Wait."

"Ah, please, take all the time you need," Fubuki declared, and there...really was no other method to use than to be as direct as possible. No defense. No coaxing hesitation. 

"Fubuki, my past self was in love with you. That changes the way I think now. It makes me want to-"

Teeth clicking together, he flinched hard, and a sudden _feeling_ gripped him with its claws around his heart. Leaning in, Fubuki steadied him, an arm over his shoulders and kind, soft words in his ear, and- 

His eyes fluttered closed when Fubuki's fingers began to gather the loose hair that had drifted in front of his face, tucking the strands behind the shell of his ear. Fubuki's other hand was still over his. Because of how tightly their fingers had locked, it was his captive, as much as he was bound to it as well. 

"Ah, don't push yourself at this time. Please, get some rest. I'll stay as long as I can," Fubuki murmured, the depth of his scent intoxicating, and Ryo shuddered, a conflict waging behind his eyelids. Frustrations overlapped, building off each other. The longer he stayed like _this_ , the longer he would continue to exist as a phantom, a construction that could never answer to the nuances in Sho's conversations. Or discern the emotions that flickered over Fubuki's eyes. Or...achieve so many things. 

He breathed in. He spoke, compelled by the burning remnants of this past. They urged him closer and closer to Fubuki's light, to the precious heart of this person. "You don't have to lean out of your chair like that."

"Hmm? Excuse me?"

"If you want to come here, then come here. Lie down with me," Ryo stated, and Fubuki's chuckles began as a low rumble. 

“Oh, my dear Ryo… This is rather...bold of you…”

“Is that surprising?”

“Not... _necessarily_ , but are you certain that-?”

“Yes.”

"Forgive me for repeating myself, but are you _certain_ -?"

"This won't be the first time that we've slept together in the same bed. I've remembered enough to understand that," Ryo said, Fubuki's grin going wide before he, with clear effort, managed to restrain it. 

"W-Well, if it's comfort and companionship that you desire, then I will be your humble servant and gently, carefully-"

"Fubuki."

Evidently, the narrow bed had not been designed with the comfort of two people in mind, and yet Fubuki adjusted himself next to Ryo with only quiet, pleased hums, settling into the same melody that he had played on the ukulele's strings. Fubuki's unique scent surrounded him just as strongly as his arms did then, and sleep seemed to be drawn in more and more by the gentle notes of Fubuki's song until it, indeed, arrived.

\---

The next time he opened his eyes, Fubuki was still there: curled on his side, one arm over Ryo’s chest and the other underneath his pillow. 

The moonlight fell over Tenjouin Fubuki’s features, tracing down from the bridge of his nose with a thread of pale silver. It ran its designs over high cheekbones, following them until the shadows cast by loose, soft strands of brunet were too deep to cross. If Ryo stared at his features slackened by sleep, then an ardent sensation from before would eagerly return, making his heart feel present and alive as it continued to beat. Like a stray petal of a flower in silver, a curve of moonlight rested on Fubuki’s bottom lip, and his breaths were full, even.

It was good.

Fubuki had looked tired, after all.

Even though Fubuki’s hold kept his arms at his sides, he managed to ‘free’ one enough to run his fingers along Fubuki’s wrist until their hands clasped over his own chest. They bobbed slightly with each rise and fall as he breathed in as slowly and steadily as Fubuki did now. It was easy like this, to match the rhythm created by Fubuki’s content sleep.

(Wrapped in his arms, Fubuki began to relax, his shivers decreasing in severity and frequency alike. Because his own experiences in trying to calm someone else were still so limited, Ryo had to follow his impulses. He ran his palm up and down the solid curve of Fubuki’s back, imagining that he was smoothing out the wrinkles in the fabric of Fubuki’s pajama top, and gradually, that tight arc of his spine loosened. Around them, Fubuki’s many blankets were piled high.

There had been no words exchanged that night. He had knocked on the door of Fubuki's dorm room. Red-eyed and awake at this late hour, Fubuki had opened it and stepped back. Next, they had simply...moved here, tangled together in the only way that had made sense in a fundamental, unshakable manner. If Fubuki’s breathing gained a ragged, pained edge to it, then Ryo would pull him closer, Fubuki’s face buried in his shoulder and fingers tangled over the small of his back. Delicate floral notes were pressed into the force that was Fubuki’s dizzying scent. 

Hours passed. Ryo stayed perfectly still. He followed the loops in the dark hair cascading over the pillow with his gaze, repeating the patterns.

When Fubuki began to stir, Ryo opened his hold, intent on giving his dear person the space needed to clear his head, but Fubuki only yawned, muttered something into the folds of his shirt that he couldn’t understand, and hugged him around the waist. Perhaps it was strange, but Ryo could only respond by laughing, Fubuki joining in with deeper tones, with those uniquely beautiful creations of sound.)

When the door slid open, he raised his head and met Ayukawa’s stare. His former teacher placed her hands on her hips while considering Fubuki’s still form, and Ryo watched in amusement as she picked up a nearby stack of papers, flipped to a blank form, and wrote across it with a black marker. 

_‘I’LL PRETEND THAT I’VE FORGOTTEN WHAT THE VISITING HOURS ARE. JUST THIS ONCE.’_

Ryo nodded in response, and Ayukawa made a show of rolling her eyes before closing the door and stepping away. 

He felt himself grin.

“Were you able to follow that exchange?” he asked, hushed, and a now-awake Fubuki giggled against his robe, shadowed eyes flashing with mischief. 

“Ah, I’ve figured out the main details. Like… You must have given Ayukawa-sensei _quite_ the sympathetic look. Dare I suggest that you have ‘puppy dog eyes,’ oh fearsome Kaiser?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Ryo answered, deadpan, and immediately Fubuki had to stifle his giggles again. Without words, Ryo pulled him in, both of his arms around Fubuki’s broad shoulders, and the warmth of that moment remained, as if they were floating on still water beneath a summer’s open sky. 

\---


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Ryo grapples a bit with his death from season 3 as well as Fubuki’s own defeat. Hence, this chapter contains some angst and mentions of death.

\---

He only stirred when Fubuki gradually pulled back, and, squinting against the golden sunlight that had slipped in through the blinds, Ryo grasped for Fubuki’s sleeve. He recognized the exact way Fubuki chuckled, a sign that he had done something ‘endearing’.

“See? I can’t leave, can I?” Fubuki chirped, very eager to smush his cheek against the top of Ryo’s head, and the older man standing by the door -- the chancellor of the school, supposedly -- made a pained sort of frown. 

“Tenjouin-kun, it’s important for you to be on time for your classes, especially since this will be your graduating year.”

At that, Fubuki hummed in consideration, tapping his fingers on Ryo’s shoulder. “I _am_ looking forward to the year-end graduation party. After all, the Blizzard Prince should make a strong final appearance as a student…”

When Ryo straightened and began to sit up, Fubuki moved to help him, Ryo almost shaking his head at just how _immediate_ it was. 

“If you want to graduate, you should go to class.”

Fubuki gasped, drama at maximum. “W-Why, my dear Ryo?! Are you sending me _away_?”

“In this specific case, yes,” he stated, and Fubuki mimed wiping away a tear. The expected smile appeared shortly after that, and Fubuki adjusted his lapels and cuffs as if he hadn’t spent a night in a too-narrow hospital bed. 

“Then I will obey your commands, but, as proof of my devotion, I will return to take care of the roses and the _owner_ of those roses as well. I shall not falter,” Fubuki declared before striding out of the room, pausing only to incline his head at the chancellor, and the older man made that pained frown again. 

“I take it that I’m in trouble for something,” Ryo stated, an eyebrow arched, and perhaps his reason for returning had a clause about tormenting this man in particular, given how that expression only twisted further in defeat. 

“Oh, no. No, no. Ryo, you’re not in trouble for anything,” the chancellor said, and he took the chair at Ryo’s bedside with a long, troubled look at the collection of flowers. “I must apologize to you first. I hadn’t realized you were allowed to have student visitors this early in the day.”

At that, Ryo indulged in a pointed smirk. “Actually, I’m not.”

“...Oh.” The chancellor cleared his throat. “Anyways, I wanted to speak with you, if that suits you as well. I...suppose I could even come back later.”

“It’s fine.”

“That’s indeed kind of you,” he replied, wrinkles deep across his forehead and indicative of concentration. “I must acknowledge that my reasons for being here are selfish. It’s...been awhile, Ryo. The last time that I saw your face, it was in a photograph contained in your file.”

“The file of a person who went missing in connection to this school,” Ryo stated, and when the chancellor gaped at him in surprise, he continued -- steady. “My brother has been explaining what happened last term."

“Oh, that’s… O-On that topic, I was wondering if you had remembered anything about your duels in the other… Wait. Where...is your Cyber Art deck?”

“I’m not too sure of that myself. I presume that it’s still in Instructor Ayukawa’s office,” he observed, shrugging, and the chancellor’s chair almost toppled over and hit the floor as he stood up, face pale. If that reason for returning was _really_ connected to tormenting this man, then that would be...rather vindictive of his past self. 

“That...shouldn’t be possible, for your connection with the Cyber Art to be…”

Given that they were discussing his deck, the term likely referred to an archetype or style of play. 

“Unfortunately, you may find that I’m not an expert on the situation, despite being involved in it.”

“Oh, this is only...the confusion of a man who is often confused,” the chancellor replied with a well-humored smile, and Ryo arched an eyebrow. “This connection, it’s often...a subtle form of strength that underlies the everyday life of a duelist. In particularly...intense circumstances, it can manifest as something far more demanding, existing like a lightning charge between a duelist and their cards.”

“Are you suggesting that I used to be someone who carried a ‘lightning charge’?” Ryo asked, and this man, this person whose face seemed _blurred_ from the tangled familiarity and strangeness of it all, only lowered his shoulders at first, looking again to the roses, chrysanthemums, as if they were markers on a grave. Or...as if they _could_ have been laid down for that very purpose.

He had been missing for weeks.

His brother had let out wracking, powerful sobs, squeezing his ribcage and crowding in as if to confirm that, yes, he was real.

“You had become a...reckless person, one who had abandoned notions of respect in his pursuit of victory.”

“I suppose that attitude is what led to my death.”

“Following the rules of the other world, you were likely placed inside a prison dimension instead of being...vanquished in that final duel.” When the chancellor stood up and approached the flowers, Ryo almost protested -- a snarl forming, his glare suddenly a wild thing. The older man only moved the chrysanthemums until the heads were no longer pressed awkwardly against the wall, some in danger of snapping. “Regardless, it was a death, and even before that, many people had missed you.”

“I…” The sheets gathered between his hands could have become stone in that instant; they were insurmountable obstacles to his limp fingers. Anger had many forms. This was one directed at himself, _into_ himself, and it was like molten metal being poured into a mold, filling each corner of what he could dare to call his and then solidifying, gaining a unique weight that he could barely _comprehend_. 

Right.

 _Right_ , he had been-

“I’m such a fool,” he hissed, dropping his head, and the chancellor rushed in vain to steady him, to _calm_ and smooth out something that was no longer malleable. 

Absences hurt. Being ripped from someone’s side _hurt_ , and he had-

(Although Fubuki had activated the mask with a blatant strength, the coils of darkness had begun to change, rippling with an unchallenged intensity. The pained roar of Red-Eyes Dragon reached him, and Fubuki, wincing, continued to grapple with this force. It had taken him over once. Misplaced his soul. Overwritten a glowing individuality. 

It tested the limitations of Fubuki’s control now with flickers of grey-blue shadow. Marks of stress deepened and changed his refined features.)

For a long time, he had walked away from those whose hearts were dear to him, and they had suffered for his sake, trying to repair the bonds that he -- a careless new adult with a sliver of a worldview and the remnants of branching electricity hot inside his veins -- had left to neglect.

\---

Ayukawa quietly ushered the chancellor out, and after Ryo nodded through her questions, she left. The doors had not required her to swipe her card or input a code. The chancellor could have overridden such security measures earlier.

The flowers at his bedside seem to glow in the low light. 

With his chest heaving, he rose from the bed, put his bare feet on the floor, and stood with his own limited strength. Used only for practice thus far, a simple cane was positioned by the windows. After retrieving it, he took a few assisted steps, and while the dizziness remained, it had become easier to manage. He checked, and as expected, all windows were still locked, as was the door to the courtyard. 

He found a generic blue shirt and sweatpants buried in a drawer, awkwardly slipping into them. For shoes, there was no choice but to use the boots that he had been found wearing.

One more issue remained. 

Mirroring Ayukawa’s actions the previous night, he flipped through the stack of papers on the shelf by the door until he found a blank form. He ripped it loose, scrawling across it in thick characters, _‘I’ll be back before dusk. Don’t waste time looking for me. I apologize for this.’_

For the first time since he had arrived here, the doors slid open for him alone, and the hallway was empty, flanked by generic doors and leading to a large, open room. Halfway to this destination, he found himself leaning hard against the wall, panting towards the distant ceiling while his own fingers struggled to keep the cane upright, to keep himself from crumbling there. 

The sleek reception area was empty except for a secretary behind the main desk, her attention divided between the file she was hurriedly writing on and the phone shoved between her cheek and her shoulder. Ryo walked straight ahead. He crossed the threshold, the automatic doors sliding shut behind him. The glare of the sun was blinding.

He became numb to the steps that he took, watching his own fingers fumble with the grip of the cane, and he passed under the cover of a wide tree, the earthen musk of the forest’s undergrowth wafting in, competing with the continued ocean-scent that rode so easily on the breeze. It was automatic, for him to turn his head and peer through the gaps in the trunks, watching the far-out waves go tall and then curl in on themselves. 

He walked further beneath the shade.

(The duel disks had been positioned as grave markers. At the sight of them, Edo had turned away, the dry wind howling. Although the names had never been carved into the markers, it was clear who each one belonged to. The roaming patrols spread rumors alongside their violence. The dead were known to him.

Vertical shadows extended out from each marker. No one could lay flowers for a memorial in such a dimension. All was wasteland and ruin. 

The distinguishing features were small, but he gravitated towards them all the same. Fubuki’s duel disk lacked the scratches and wear-marks of the others, Fubuki diligent in keeping it pristine. 

Ryo knelt down. He brushed away the fine sand that had tried to build over the card slots. Next, he straightened Asuka’s marker, the stones at the base loose.

He stood again, vertigo gripping him. He endured it.

Perhaps even this death was just another form of darkness that Fubuki had become trapped inside. If so, then it wouldn’t be long until he was within those shadows too. There, he would find that other person -- someone far in the distance who Ryo now could only miss and watch for with a child’s naiveté.

Even though the land here was dead and arid, he could hear the muffled rhythm of the ocean meeting the breakwater.

No, it wouldn’t be long at all.)

Small lilac flowers bloomed between the moss and exposed dirt that bordered the narrow path through this island’s forest. They were of a wholly different type and design than the full-petaled roses and opened chrysanthemums that rested still in his room, and yet, looking at them with the knowledge that he had now, they carried the same echoes of desperation, of sorrow.

He had hurt other people, including those who had given him those flowers or shown him their honest tears. They had been pained by him. They could have attended his funeral in this dimension. 

(He had stood over Fubuki’s grave in a different dimension, Asuka’s own positioned to the left of it.)

Deaths had followed the breach of that dimension, and his was the culmination of a foolish pursuit, his own obsession. But for Tenjouin Asuka, Tenjouin Fubuki, and those who had fought at their sides, the cruelty of their deaths was vile. Their futures had been, for a stretch of time, sealed off. Taken away.

Reduced to nothing. 

He watched his feet move forward, crossing delicate impressions made in the dry dirt -- the smudged footprints of students, the cloven hoof of an animal. When he emerged into the sunlight again, he squinted against the rush of blue. Ahead was the open ocean, extending far out until it met and folded into the sky. He moved along the concrete harbour until his back was to the lighthouse. He sat down in its thin shadow.

...Ah.

This was where he came in moments of stress, as well as moments of loneliness. 

...What a strange duality.

The waves gently pushed against the breakwater, the small variations in sound catching his attention and trying to hold it. His breathing eased, and he wiped at the sweat on his forehead. Before, years ago, he had stood here alone under a sudden bout of rain, allowing the ice-cold drops to soak him to the skin just...because.

During his first year, it had indeed been common for his contemplations by the ocean to be interrupted by a flash of a surfboard over the greater waves, their falls cut through with Fubuki’s vibrant laughter, which had always travelled far. Sometimes, Fubuki would appear on a floating ring, sunglasses in place, in the shallows and waving at Ryo with a brilliant smile. Sometimes, Fubuki would wade in up to his knees, strumming the ukulele as the setting sun burned orange and red.

His gaze had remained on the ocean after Fubuki had gone missing. Even in the dead of night, Fubuki could have simply...been _there_ , appearing with the same flair that only he could ever possess.

“...Oh! Ryo?”

He tilted his head to the right, and there was Tenjouin Asuka, her long, blonde hair flowing freely in the wind. She sat down on the edge of the concrete structure, her heeled boots over the spray, and she furrowed her eyebrows as she glanced over again.

“I have a free period now, so I usually come here to clear my head. I guess that’s a habit we still share,” she observed, although that hard, searching aspect of her gaze was undisturbed. “Were you released today? I would have expected my brother to throw a party.”

“I snuck out.”

A pause.

“...You...snuck out of the clinic?”

“Yes.”

Another pause. Her lips twisted at the corners, and, after a long beat, she grinned at him. The family resemblance became startling. For a brief gasp of time, it was painful.

“I understand. Although, my brother would scold me for leaving your side, if that’s the situation.”

“Even if I rest, I doubt that I will have the strength to return to the clinic by myself,” he admitted, the sardonic grin like razor-wire as it curled up, and her expression turned serious again. “It seems that my nature is an impulsive one. That has unfortunate implications for those around me, doesn’t it?”

“It would be shocking to find someone on this island who _isn’t_ impulsive, myself included,” Asuka stated, her hair fanning out over her uniform shirt. “This...may be bold coming from someone who you do not fully remember, but I urge you to focus on how others have reacted to your presence. My brother won’t stop smiling. Your brother is the same way. ...Chronos-sensei keeps tearing up during our lectures, actually.” 

“I don’t intend to make anyone cry,” Ryo heard himself say, the words stilted. Not enough. 

“You’re important to many people, so it’s...unavoidable, I suppose.” The hazel of her irises had softened. She continued. “The last time that I tried to visit you, Ayukawa-sensei said that you were resting. Although, I’ve only...just realized what I really wanted to say to you. Yes, people have missed you, and it’s been difficult, just like how we struggled together when my brother was away. However, these bonds between all of us, they weren’t only formed from sad memories, and I hope that they will be strengthened in the future. I believe that, Ryo.”

The future. That was the very thing that Darkness had tried to _take_ away, as if to continue the death that he had-

Groaning, he rubbed at his forehead, and Asuka’s heels clicked against the concrete as she rushed towards him. 

“Ah, are you-?”

“We should head back.”

“Okay. Here, let me take your left arm.”

There had always been something remarkably straightforward about Tenjouin Asuka. The thought settled in place, and then it became immovable, a part of how he understood the world. 

"I have always been proud of you."

Even caught off guard, Asuka did not falter in her steps, her arm locked around his like an iron bracket. "Ryo… I’m grateful to hear that.”

"I might have said it before," Ryo stated, chuckling with the last syllable. "My memories are still 'compromised', if I'm being very generous."

"I'm sure that you've been working hard to change that. That's what Marufuji Ryo would do," she said brightly, and as they passed under the shade of the trees again, Ryo breathed in. He watched as the cane made slight insertions in the path that mirrored those on the opposite side of it. 

On this island, his own life had intersected with the journeys of many other people -- some with faces that were clear to him now, others still behind walls.

“I need to recover from this if I’m going to support those who have faced hardships and address my own mistakes as well. For instance, this ‘Chronos-sensei’ must have been affected by my death and the reckless life before it."

Asuka responded quickly. "You're a prized student of his, and he's one of many people thankful for your return."

“Will you do me another favour?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Tell your teacher to come see me if his feelings really are that strong.”

She stifled a laugh. "I promise."

“Thank you.”

Because each step required for him to match Asuka's own movements, the feeling was like standing in the ocean and allowing its separate rhythm to guide and change his own. Each roll of Asuka's shoulder was tangible, the inward curl of a low wave in miniature.

After passing into the sunlight again, he had to shake his head at the perfect timing of it all -- Ayukawa stood in front of the clinic's front entrance, swinging her clipboard as she hurriedly gestured to Fubuki, who was in his school uniform and holding what looked like a cardboard cutout of himself under one arm. 

Somehow, Ryo was not surprised by that last observation. 

Given how she sighed and dutifully trudged ahead, neither was Tenjouin Asuka. 

Two heads swiveled in their direction, and the sound of Ayukawa's palm smacking against her forehead echoed out, as did Fubuki's booming laughter. 

"Ah, of course! My darling sister comes to the rescue! But, please," Fubuki smoothly added, dropping the cut-out -- which wobbled over the pathway and yet managed to stay upright -- before sauntering over to their small group, "Asuka, allow me to intervene. I cannot simply stand by while-"

"Don't you have class?" Ryo asked, point-blank. It was a direct hit, Fubuki's smile freezing for a beat while he switched tactics. 

" _Well_ , that may be true, but I've made a perfect escape, if I may say so myself."

"Did you put a second cut-out in the lecture hall and assume that the professor wouldn't notice?"

Most people being caught so blatantly would have cringed or at least cast a guilty look at the ground. Fubuki, a contrasting element, only perked up and beamed at him.

"Why, I can't get anything past you, can I?"

"How about we help move Marufuji-kun back to his room before continuing this conversation?" Ayukawa’s pleasant grin was strained at the corners. "Afterwards, we can also have a quick chat about your attendance, Tenjouin-kun."

"Of course, Ayukawa-sensei," Fubuki replied, inclining his head, before focusing on Asuka again. "Please, Asuka. I offer my services."

After a judgmental look at her older brother, Asuka carefully began to shift away from Ryo, Fubuki moving in with a dazzling grin and many small comments like, "Thank you, thank you," and, "You're so kind, my lovely Asuka." There was no doubting how earnest Tenjouin Fubuki was. To do so would be unforgivable. 

Even the shock of this guilt would not lead Ryo to make such a grievous mistake. Not now. 

"Ah, is using the cane comfortable for you?" Fubuki asked, pressed against him, and that deep scent began to drift in. It was remarkably simple, to just lean against Tenjouin Fubuki and let his fingers open, the grip loose between them. 

"Not currently.”

"I may have a solution, if you're willing to indulge me," Fubuki answered, smug enough that Asuka, standing next to her teacher, crossed her arms and quirked an eyebrow up. 

For her part, Ayukawa rubbed at her forehead again and then said, "Let's just be careful, Tenjouin-kun…"

"What could be more careful than yours truly carrying our dear Kaiser in his arms like a fairytale prince? Very charming, don't you think?" Fubuki gripped Ryo's arm tighter, as if it was possible to forget his presence. "Ryo, if you're ready, I'll just need you to stand still and trust in your devoted servant."

"I thought you were supposed to be a knight or prince in this scenario, not a servant," Ryo stated, and he knew Fubuki's smile had broadened without turning to look. 

"For you, I'm always a servant of love."

"I don't think I need to hear this," Asuka grumbled in the background. Next, Ryo's world tilted very abruptly, Fubuki's hands bracing him as he was moved off the ground and-

It was impossible not to laugh. 

Of course Tenjouin Fubuki would pick a bridal carry out of all the possibilities. 

"This really is indulging you," Ryo said as flatly as he could, and Fubuki radiated only confidence, his strength clear while he took a step forward. The hold did not waver, and, with a knowing glint to his own smile, Ryo handed Asuka the cane as she put her hands out for it, her features both amused and flickering with emotion -- a kind of happiness that he couldn't yet name, but, regardless, it was present.

"I'll never drop you, my precious charge," Fubuki crooned to Ryo as he swept through the automatic doors and gave the startled receptionist a wink. Because they hung awkwardly otherwise, Ryo gave in and looped his arms around Fubuki's neck, and the receptionist blinked owlishly when Ayukawa followed them with Fubuki's cardboard cutout under one arm.

"Where were you going to put this? It can't stay outside the clinic,” she stated.

"Why, in Ryo's room, of course!" Fubuki replied, glancing at her over his shoulder, and Ryo -- the person who currently spent the vast majority of his time in that room -- decided that he should say something. 

"I don't need the reminder. I don't plan on forgetting about you ever again."

Fubuki stopped walking. He turned to face Ryo, his eyes gleaming and captivated. Pupils wide. 

\---


End file.
